


crybaby

by anillegiblemess



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety Disorder, Confessions, Coping, Depression, Historical References, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, sensory processing disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anillegiblemess/pseuds/anillegiblemess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you were a kindness when i was a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crybaby

**Author's Note:**

> yeah uh i made an hc a while back w/ russia having spd and i wanted to write about it??? but this is more implied/referenced than anything. while he deals with sensory issues he also deals w/ other things as well so idk.
> 
> also sorry this is so long i just started writing and i couldn't stop kasdnsdksskm

He watched the other nations tentatively, opening and closing his fingers, hearing his leather gloves squeeze against his closed fist. The room was crowded. Terribly so. Nations were walking this way and that, shouting this and that, doing this and that. It was chaos. And any minute, no, any second Russia could snap, could walk out, could cry.

The only good thing Russia was good at, it seemed, was crying. Always fucking crying. And over what? This crowd of nations swarming around him? It was stupid. Russia was stupid. He felt awful. He wanted to go home, or at least go back to the hotel. 

“Russia, you haven’t spoken up about this issue. What do you think?” Germany was leading the discussion, and his loud and sudden voice startled Russia who jolted instantly at the sound, but tried to push back his nervousness and speak.

“I apologize, what were we talking about? I must have spaced out.” Russia did his best to smile to hide his awkwardness. Now everyone was looking at him in question. 

“As expected.” England muttered underneath his breath. He was tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the wooden table. It was irritating, no, grating to Russia’s ears. He wanted England to stop.

“Stop that.” He bluntly stated, staring at England who simply smirked, raising his bushy eyebrows.

“Stop what?” He continued to drum his fingers. Russia could feel the heat pooling to his cheeks, the embarrassment as all eyes were locked on him and his attitude. He stood up abruptly, not to intimidate England but to quickly escape if needed. The others thought he was trying to challenge the Englishman and France ran over.

_Dear God no, please don’t touch me. I don’t want to hurt anyone today I don’t want to cry today please go away please leave me alone._ Russia could only think, not do. 

“Please, let’s not fight now. This is meant to be a peaceful meeting.” France came around to Russia’s side of the table and stupidly placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Russia snapped, slapping France’s hand away. He looked baffled and stepped back, afraid to get hit again. 

Everyone was glaring in Russia’s direction now. He stood there, feeling hot and sweaty. He could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, his throat ached and hurt. His mouth salivated. He felt like throwing up.

“S-Sorry… I need to take a smoke break…” Russia quickly walked past France, making sure not to touch him. As he brushed past the other nations sitting down and staring at him, he locked gazes with America who was beside England and was watching the whole spiel with concern. 

“Wait, Russia!” America got up and ran after him after he exited the room, walking down to the entrance of the building they were in. There was a small couch there and he sat down, searching his pockets for a pack of cigarettes that he didn’t have. 

He looked up as America came into view, stopping right in front of him.

“Sorry about leaving so suddenly.” Russia said, looking down at his shoes and avoiding eye contact. He continued to shuffle around in his pockets for a cigarette or something. He still had a flask of vodka in his inner coat pocket, but he didn’t feel like dragging it out now. It was too early for alcohol, even for him.

“Need a cigarette?” America asked as he watched Russia’s movements.

Russia looked up, hesitantly, “I thought you quit smoking.” He said, with a slight twinge upwards of his lips. America shrugged.

“Yeah, but I still carry some around if anyone needs any. I know you in particular still smoke, even though everyone else has mostly quit.” America was looking away, appearing awkward. Russia thought the notion was kind; keeping a pack of cigarettes around for others even if America had stopped smoking himself. But why was he focused on Russia’s needs? Yes, ever since the end of the Cold War the two had tried to build their relationship back and for the most part it was there but many things were still awkward. The two still couldn’t look each other in the eye. 

“Thank you, I’ll take one.” Russia said, nodding as America brought out a cigarette for him. He lit it with his own lighter and inhaled the smoke, then exhaled it out of his nostrils. America motioned if he could sit beside the other country and Russia nodded, closing his eyes and trying to block out his senses. 

The two were quiet until America spoke up again, “Are you doing alright?”

Russia opened his eyes, but did not look beside him. Still puffing on his cigarette, he muttered, “I’m doing fine. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken for a while, except at meetings y’know… I mean, ever since the end of the Cold War I’ve wanted to have a little one on one time with you, you know what I mean?” America fidgeted in his seat some. The boy was always restless. It was annoying at times but Russia had grown to ignore it for the most part.

“I’m not quite sure I do.” 

“I mean, like, talking to each other and being best friends, like the old days, before Stalin and Communism and all that crap.”

Russia cringed a bit at the mention of his old boss, but let it slide for America’s sake. He was too tired and fed up to say anything about that now.

“Like… Like during the Civil War of mine.”

Russia, for once, turned to face America and looked at him straight in his baby blue eyes, surprised, but soon relaxing his face and smiling warmly, “I thought you had forgotten.”

“How could I? Dude, you were the only one who helped me! Who listened! I really… Really can’t thank you enough for that.” America said, averting his gaze. But he too was smiling.

“I’m glad you remembered.” Russia continued to smoke his cigarette, watching the smoke swirl around the room as America quieted down. The two sat in silence for another moment when America said something odd.

“You know… I miss you, Russia. I really do.” Alfred was now the one looking at his shoes, trying not to make the moment more awkward than it needed to be.

Russia was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. His body became tingly, warm, like white noise on a television screen. His heart ached. He didn’t understand. The feeling he shared right now wasn’t unfamiliar, it was just very rare. When was the last time he felt this way? He was so numb throughout all these years he forgot what emotions felt like. He had been so alone. His old friends had gone, including his two sisters ever since the break-up of the family he had created. But perhaps the break-up was for the better. When he had asked his friends to come back they had confessed all their feelings. Called him cruel. Called him too forceful. Called him a monster. He never realized his own force, his own power. Sometimes he thought about cutting off his hands. Maybe then he would never hurt anyone again.

But this feeling… As Russia sat there, trying to take it all in, push back all those negative thoughts he too realized he missed America. He missed him a lot. But he couldn’t quite believe that he too had the same feelings of loneliness and an ache for old bonds and memories.

“You really feel that way?” Russia gasped, finally catching his breath. He turned back towards America who turned to face him.

“Yeah… Yeah I do.” America smiled at him. It made him feel alive.

“I missed you too.” Russia answered, perhaps a little too quickly. He was ready to get up and leave for the atmosphere made him feel unwanted and awkward. But America understood. He was leaning forward until finally his arms wrapped around Russia’s stocky body and he embraced him.

Russia expected the touch, so he did not jolt back or appear afraid. It was a warm touch. A good touch. A touch he trusted. As he sat there, shocked, his limbs useless by his side, he took in the feeling of America, a steady weight around his torso that made him feel whole. Made him feel loved and important.

And then America retreated, saying sorry underneath his breath and turning back around. Russia wanted to coax him back, for he needed him now more than ever, but the words were never uttered, the action wasted, gone, unheard. 

“There you two are!” An English voice called from in front of them and the two looked up to see a rather angry England march towards the both of them, “America, you didn’t need to run off along with Russia like that, come on back to the meeting.”

“Sorry, England, I just wanted to check up on him.” America stood up, brushing himself off and sighing. England had a sour look to his face when he glanced at Russia and he in return hung his head. The normal feeling of wanting to cry crept back up on him and all the happiness was sucked from his soul once more. 

“He can deal with his issues by himself. He’s used to crying alone, being the crybaby he is.” England smirked. Russia wanted to punch him. He restrained himself from doing physical harm by biting his lip so hard it bled. He felt the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes because what England said was true. He was used to crying alone.

“Dad, can you stop that?” America hissed and England flinched at the word.

“Stop what?” He glared back at America who simply took him by his arm and dragged him further away from Russia, but he eavesdropped closely on their conversation as he kept his head hidden from view.

“Why do you have to act that way all the time? I know you guys don’t get along but can you please stop acting like an asshole towards him? Can’t you see he’s hurting?” That was America speaking. Russia thanked him silently for being on his side but at the same time felt odd being defended. It wasn’t like he deserved it. 

“I just… I don’t… He makes me uncomfortable. He always has. And the way he acts all ‘woe is me’ all the time now just bugs me. Like grow up for once! I know he’s been through a lot, especially recently, but can he just put that away for one second and be an adult?” England appeared sorry for a second, but not for long. 

“You know we’ve talked about his… Issues before. We had a whole meeting about it. He can’t help it, okay? He’s going through just as much as you are right now. He’s gone through shit that’s worse than what we all can imagine. Can you please try going easier on him?” 

There was silence. Russia looked up to see England shake his head and walk off, “Whatever…” 

America sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to Russia, “Hey, you ready to head back to the hotel?”

Russia stood up, sighing gratefully, “Yes, thank God.”

“And where do you two think you’re going?” Asked England who had turned around when he heard America, “You still have a meeting to attend to.”

“I’m just giving him an escort. I’ll be back later.” Before England could say anything else, America opened the entrance door for Russia and led him out. 

The air smelled faintly of blooming flowers and felt slightly humid as the two walked out into the city. Currently, they were in New York City, and spring was in its prime. As America and Russia were once again swarmed in the everyday crowds of the large, packed city, America placed his hand on Russia’s shoulders, kindly, gently, and led him through the maze of people rushing to and fro, making sure that no one brushed past him too violently or abruptly.

And Russia once again felt safe. A turtle in its shell. It was what he needed. 

As the two managed to get out of the main roads of the city to farther north Manhattan, America tried to spark up more conversation.

“It’s beginning to get warmer. I always wondered why you wear that coat and scarf, even in the heat. I know it’s pretty cold back at your place, but not all the time, I hope.” He looked at Russia with his hand still gently cupping his shoulder.

“No, it gets pretty warm in the summer. The reason I wear all these heavy clothes is because they make me feel safe. It’s like a shell of a turtle or snail. It protects me from the outside world.” Russia looked down, touching his scarf as they walked and smiling. It was the same one he always wore. The same one Ukraine knitted for him years ago when he was still a child. The memory brought nostalgia to him.

“I see… I feel the same way about this bomber jacket. It’s a comfort for me as well.” America tugged on his bomber jacket as he said so.

“Really? I thought you just liked it a lot. From the way it smells, I guess you wear it a lot, yes?” Russia smiled playfully at him and America stopped, grabbing the jacket.

“What!? It doesn’t smell that bad, does it? I washed it yesterday!” He sniffed the fabric frantically, trying to find a bad odor. 

Russia laughed, “I’m just kidding, Fredka!”

America stopped, flustered, “Oh… Hey, wait a minute! You called me Fredka! I haven’t heard you call me that since…” He trailed off, staring at Russia.

He finished his sentence, “Since your Civil War, _da_.” 

America was silent, but he smiled. No words needed to be exchanged. The move was sweet and kind. America placed his hand back on Russia’s shoulder reassuringly and the two continued on their walk back towards the hotel in silence, smiling, traces of blushes crossing their cheeks and noses.

Upon arriving, America decided to escort Russia to his room and make sure everything was okay before going back to the meeting. The two had, coincidentally, been roomed together for there was minimal room in the hotel. 

Once they walked into their suite, Russia flopped down on the bed, sighing, worn out and wanting only to sleep for the moment. America stood in the doorway, watching Russia before moving to leave, “Alright, well… I’ll be back late tonight. If I have time, I’ll try and see if I can get something for us to eat. I doubt there will be food at the meeting. Oh I know! I’ll get us some burgers. Have you tried a burger yet? I’m gonna make you eat the best burger in your life, trust me on that!” America smiled wide, moving to close the door and run on back.

“Wait, Fredka, I don’t like burgers-“ 

“See ya later, commie!” America slammed the door as he went back and Russia could hear him whistling the Star-Spangled Banner down the hallway to the elevators. He snorted, shaking his head and smiling. The kid was hopeless. 

Now that he was alone, he drew the covers of his bed over his head and sat there in the quiet darkness, closing his eyes in the safety of the layer of fabric above him. He focused on his breathing, his heartbeat, the buzzing in his ears. It helped him remain calm until thoughts intruded on him. Thoughts about America. What was that today? That feeling when America said he missed him… It was like Russia instantly bonded with the younger man in some odd way. The feeling felt right. At the mention of America, Russia’s heart quickened. Why was this so? He placed his hand over his chest, tugging at the coat around his body, thinking about the beautiful American boy he grew quick to adore. Maybe this was what Russia wanted? What he lacked? 

“Is this love?” He asked aloud to the silence. Nothing answered back. At the sudden revelation he realized that perhaps it was so. It was a feeling he was uncertain of and afraid of. A feeling he had never truly felt before until now. 

“This is odd. I don’t know what to do. Should I tell someone?” He asked aloud again. Once more, no answer. He uncovered himself from his cocoon of covers and looked at the phone on the bedside table. 

“Ukraine… I’ll call Ukraine.” He picked up the phone and dialed her number, praying silently that she would answer.

“Hallo? Who is this?” Ukraine’s kind voice was heard through the speakers and Russia breathed a sigh of relief as he heard her voice.

“Irunya? It’s me, your brother.” 

“Oh, Vanya! Hello brother, how are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.” She seemed cheerful enough that it was Russia on the phone.

“Well… Not so good. Listen, I need to talk to you about something and I hope you can help me. I just need some answers from someone.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that Vanya. What seems to be the problem?” 

“Look, this is going to sound very silly, but I think… I think I’m in love with someone.” Russia said, tentatively. He wasn’t sure how Ukraine would take this. She would certainly be more understanding, but if it was Belarus Russia was talking to, it would only end badly.

She gasped, “Oh, brother! That is exciting! Who is the lucky person?”

Russia paused, uncertain if he should answer this or not, “Oh… Well, it’s Amerika.”

The received crackled and there was no word from Ukraine. Russia’s heart raced. He hadn’t scared her off, did he? “Irunya, are you still there?”

“Yes, Vanya, I’m here!”

“Is… Is it bad to like Amerika? Is there a problem?” Russia asked, stammering.

“No, not at all. I was just surprised is all! Why Amerika? I thought you two still hated each other.” 

Russia smiled, “No, thankfully… I just realized it today.”

“Well, have you told him yet?”

“No, and I’m not sure how. I think he knows what I’m feeling but I’m not sure he feels the same way. I mean, I’m just… There’s not much to like about me. I’m so sensitive about everything… How could he love such a person as weak as me?” 

Ukraine sighed, “Vanya… I know about your sensory issues. I know they make you a target for a lot of rude people. But to me, it’s a very useful asset to have and there’s nothing wrong with it! You can notice your enemies quicker and escape from danger faster, yeah? Ah… I would love to have such a skill.” 

Russia frowned, looking down at his hands, “I’m not so sure…”

“Anyway, you should still try talking to him to see what he says! I apologize for leaving at such short notice but I’ve got things to do, so good-bye for now, brother! Oh boy… When Natalia hears of this, she will not be happy. I should keep it a secret for now.”

“Thanks for that. I’d rather Natalia not know. Bye, Irunya.”

“Good luck!” There was a click on the other end and the phone began to beep, signifying Ukraine had hung up. Russia sighed and clicked the end button, putting the phone back where it was. He sighed, drawing the covers back over himself and wishing he didn’t exist. He knew his sister meant well, but she too like most others didn’t seem to understand how troubled Russia felt about his own problems.

He drew his hands into his coat and took out the flask of vodka, “If all else fails, I can always count on you, my old friend.” He took off the cap and took a swig. The alcohol moved through his body, his veins, his brain, made him warm and whole.

*

It was about ten P.M at night when America finally arrived back at the hotel. Opening the door and hauling in a brown paper bag in both his hands, he called into the dark room, “Hey, Russia! I bought some stuff for you try.”

There was a groan from behind one of the beds. America raised one of his eyebrows and set his goodies down before investigating. He found Russia sprawled on the floor, rubbing his eyes and staring blankly up at the other nation. America could smell the alcohol on him from where he was standing.

“Are you drunk?” He asked, but knew the answer. 

Russia nodded, attempting to stand up about three times and falling over. America helped him up the fourth time and he staggered to his feet, stance wobbly. He moved over to the hotel wall for support. 

“Jesus, Russia, how the hell did you get yourself this drunk? I thought all you had on you was a flask of vodka?” 

“I got more.” Russia mumbled. His voice was heavily accented and nearly impossible to understand, “Went down the street and drank all their vodka.”

“Oh my God…” America pinched his fingers on the bridge of his nose, “Okay, well, whatever. Let’s get you to bed, Vanya.” He used the nickname Russia had once asked him to call him by during the Civil War.

“What.” Russia said, furrowing his brow at the name, “Why do you call me that?”

“Oh, sorry, did I offend you?” America was startled to say the least and expected Russia to begin yelling at him drunkenly.

“No. It is just surprising. Vanya is diminutive which is why it surprised me.” Russia moved to sit on his bed, head in his hands and looking worse than he was earlier when England was yelling at him.

“Diminu-wha?” America asked, hesitating on whether he should sit beside Russia or not. He looked like he was about to fall over on the floor again.

“It is like… Pet name. Affectionate term only.” Russia answered. Finally, America found the guts to sit by him on the bed. Russia didn’t seem disturbed. Hell, he didn’t even flinch. He kept his hands in his head, “But, I mean… You can call me that if you want…”

“Alright, I like the way it sounds anyway.” America smiled. As he looked over Russia, he felt the sudden urge to draw him close to his body and shield him from… Something. He didn’t know what. Feeling awkward and unsuccessful in resisting the urge, he asked Russia quietly, “Um… This may sound like a weird request, but can I like, hold you or something…?”

Russia was surprisingly fast in his answer, “Yes, that would be alright.” And then he leaned over, resting his head on America’s chest. He positioned himself to where his lap was facing Russia, legs around his body. He drew his arms over him and just held him there.

Russia has his eyes closed and for once seemed peaceful. America expected him to go to sleep until Russia had a request of his own.

“Fredka?” He asked, nearly whispering.

“Hm?” America mumbled, nearly falling asleep himself.

“Touch me.” Now that was an odd request to say the least. America stared down at Russia, not sure if he heard him right.

“Uh… Like… Hands in your pants or-“

“No!” Russia exclaimed, aggravated, then calmed down, “No… I mean… Not sexually.”

America laughed, “Okay, that makes more sense. Thanks for clearing that up.” He was met with one of Russia’s hands. His usual gloves that he wore were off and America tried his hardest to ignore all the scars on his palms and knuckles. With his own two hands, he cupped Russia’s and held them there.

Russia was currently enjoying every second of it. America’s hands were so young, not calloused, smooth. They were warm, too. He felt America flinch a little bit as the two exchanged body heat via touch, “Wow, Russia, I didn’t know your hands could be this cold!” 

“Be quiet for a second.” Russia mumbled, annoyed by America’s loud voice. Sometimes it could aggravate him to end, especially during moments like this. Plus with him being drunk, his senses were even more out of whack. 

He just heard America snort out a laugh, but he remained quiet afterwards. America realized then that Russia’s hands were trembling. A part of his nervousness, he suspected. He hoped to quell even these involuntary shivers and felt even more like he needed to protect the other country. Unconsciously, he found himself leaning over and kissing Russia’s upturned hand. 

Russia flinched, snapping his eyes open and sitting abruptly, staring in shock at America. America immediately felt awful, “Oh shit, did I startle you or offend you? I’m sorry… That was too… Romantic, I guess. I didn’t mean it.”

“No… No it’s just…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words in his drunken and tired mind, “You didn’t need to do that. I am not worth that.”

“What? Of course you are. Come on, don’t act like that.” America smiled, reaching for Russia again, who immediately slapped away his hand.

“Stop that! Do not treat me like I’m…” He hesitated again, uncertain about something. America looked at his hand now red from the slap, then back up at Russia.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a prince. Like I’m royalty. Like I’m… Above you.” 

“Oh…” America looked back down, holding his hands, “Is that what this is about? I’m sorry, shit, I really did offend you.”

“Do not apologize, it’s not your fault…” Russia trailed off and appeared to be done with his spiel before he suddenly began to cry. It grew violent fast. He became a sobbing mess in front of America.

“What? Why are you crying?” America fought the urge to go over and coax Russia, for he didn’t want to be pushed away again.

“I don’t know! Do not ask me that question!” Russia screamed. In truth, he felt overwhelmed. Like he had to cry. The movement America made was too much for him. Not just in sense, but mentally too it was enough to blow Russia over. How could someone who had so much more than him treat him in such a way? He didn’t deserve it. He really didn’t.

“I just… I just… I don’t deserve that. You do, not me! You are more than I ever could be… I am just a sham. A stupid, sham of a nation. Look at me. I’m crying over all of this. I am weak, do not treat me like I’m otherwise.” Russia moved to get up, but immediately fell over, cursing as he hit the floor.

America moved to try and help him back up, but Russia yelled at him defiantly, “Do not touch me!” He staggered back to his feet, grabbing an empty vodka bottle that had been dropped to the floor, “I’m pathetic! Let me be pathetic! Just a pathetic, depressed, sensitive drunk!” He threw the bottle at the wall, then instantly regretting it for when it shattered it made him freeze and fall back to the floor, covering his ears though the sound was long gone now.

“Vanya…” America could only watch as his friend and fellow nation lost himself on the hotel floor. 

He was laughing now, however, but tears still fell from his eyes, “You know who called me weak first? Stalin did. _Da_ , he told me I was weak. I needed to be stronger than you. Than everyone else. And I tried. I had to be better than you, than everyone else because I was useless and weak and no one cared about me. No one saw me as the threat I wanted to be. That’s what he told me.” He smiled, “But who was the weak one in the end? He was. He was weak. I watched him die. I was in that hotel room with him when he passed. And no one came for him. I couldn’t help him, I didn’t feel I was strong enough for that. He stayed in that room for hours until finally someone figured out there was something wrong and by then it was too late. He died pathetically, uttering nonsense as his dying words, covered in his own filth. What a waste.” He got up again, walking towards the other bed.

“And England calls me a crybaby. That’s what they all call me, _da_. Crybaby Russia. Is that all I am?” He sat down, no longer smiling, “Tell me, America, is that what a good country is?” He laid down and got underneath the covers, curling into a ball, sheltering himself once more.

America remained in silence, still reeling from all that Russia said, but he faced his covered figure and disagreed with what he said about himself, “Russia, you are not a crybaby. Fuck what England says, alright? He’s only saying that because he thinks he’s all that being an old and grand country. But you know what? He cries too. I know because I’ve seen him cry before, countless of times, in front of me even. All countries cry. I cry. There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make you any less of anything to show sensitivity. And I’ll be honest, I’ve found that the most sensitive people are the most honest, kind, and loving people. Don’t feel bad. Please don’t. You have a gift. Keep that. Don’t hide yourself because you fear it would strip your status as a country.”

Russia remained quiet, before there was movement, then his voice, “I wonder if Stalin would call me a crybaby… Probably. I deserve all that rough treatment anyway. I needed to become numb to everything. I hurt everyone in the end. Is that what a country is? I don’t know anymore…” 

Again, more silence from America, then, “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. I’m so fucking sorry. No country deserves that. And you’ve dealt with more assholes than Stalin too. But you didn’t deserve them either. You didn’t deserve any of the shit you dealt with. But because you dealt with all that, you’re stronger than all of us. And like you said, Stalin was pathetic. While he died like that, you remained living. Yeah, you were hurt, but you weren’t destroyed. You’ll never be destroyed. Embrace that. Be happy about that. You know what? Ever since I was little I admired you. Even though my dad told me to stay away from you, told me that you were evil or a monster, I didn’t believe him. That’s not what you are. It’s the shitty leaders you dealt with that force you to act that way. But you are kind, respectable, understanding… Honestly, you’re an amazing country. And I… And I…” America felt the tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He brushed them away, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. You made me the country I am today. You helped me when no one else listened. You never saw me as a rebellious little teenager. And, again, I thank you for that.”

Russia had finally lifted his head from the covers, looking over at the now crying America, “You really believe that?” 

America nodded, smiling, “Of course.”

Russia continued to stare at him, eyes bloodshot and his face puffy and red from his own crying. Slowly, he began to move until America found himself smothered by the Russian, his face buried into his big coat as the country gave him a hug so tight America thought his spine would crack underneath the weight.

And then Russia looked at him straight in the eyes, smiling as he cupped his large hands on America’s cheeks and leaned over, kissing his forehead, then, his lips. It was the best feeling in the world, for both of the countries. They wanted to remain that way together, as one. And when Russia finally retreated, he rested his head on America’s shoulder and continued to cry, but it was a reassuring kind, “Thank you… Thank you so much…” He mumbled drunkenly into America’s bomber jacket. The two climbed into the bed, still in their clothes from the day, kissing. 

America moved, trying to tug off Russia’s clothes as the kisses became more passionate, but Russia pulled him away.

“No…” He mumbled, “No. Hold me. Just hold me.” America understood, letting Russia rest his head on his chest as the two laid together in bed, holding each other by the edges, entwined forever.

And not once, even when the two fell asleep, did they let go.


End file.
